When the Plastic Bag Rustles: Sanmu’s Memoir 005

There is one sound Sanmu makes that I find very hard to pretend I have not heard: chewing a plastic bag.

Sometimes I have just woken up and am still in bed. Sometimes I am already awake, scrolling on my phone. He starts chewing a bag over there, and I have to call out to stop him over here. I may not have got up, but my attention is already on him.

All these years with Sanmu, I have considered him a fairly easy cat to live with. When I paint, he does not deliberately step in the palette or gnaw my brushes. When I eat, he is not particularly curious. He hardly nibbles the houseplants either. Many things I originally worried about never happened. Plastic bags, of all things, became the exception.

I often feel that he chews bags because he wants my attention.

Perhaps he is thinking of canned food, or perhaps his food has run out. In any case, it seems as if he wants me to get up and do something. I am in bed occupied with my own things; he makes a little noise, and I react. After enough instances like this, I inevitably wonder whether the little fellow knows this trick works on me.

Of course, that is only my guess. Live with a cat long enough and it becomes easy to think you understand him. Whenever he moves, I try to explain it through familiar possibilities: is he hungry, does he want canned food again? But he cannot tell me whether I am right. Nor can I conclude, from what I see when I am present, that he never chews bags while alone at home.

Why do cats like plastic bags? I have paid attention to that question before and heard explanations involving sounds or smells. Looking into it reveals that some explanations remain hypotheses. When discussing cats licking plastic bags, a behavior specialist from Cats Protection in the UK listed the appeal of some substance in the plastic as one possibility, without giving a definite cause. Source

For me, the sound of a bag drawing my attention is a definite fact. Whether Sanmu likes that sound itself or likes my reaction to hearing it is harder to distinguish.

There is one aspect of this I cannot treat merely as amusing. Sanmu has actually swallowed plastic and later vomited it up, with fragments visible in the vomit. There have been no serious consequences that I know of over the years. That is fortunate, but it cannot prove that chewing bags is harmless.

Swallowed plastic can cause a gastrointestinal obstruction, and vomiting up a few pieces does not mean everything is out. If you suspect a cat has swallowed a foreign object, contact a veterinarian promptly, particularly if the cat is vomiting, refusing food, or lethargic. Keeping bags out of reach is a better approach than waiting for chewing to begin and then stopping it. Source

My own reactions have not always been very considered. Sometimes I shout at him, hoping to startle him into stopping. There have also been times I gave him a smack, wondering why he never learned. These are things I have done, not methods worth copying. Veterinary behavior guidance warns that punishment may increase anxiety and make the problem worse. His willingness to approach me afterward cannot be taken to mean he likes being scolded. Source

To return to that small moment beside the bed: sometimes, when I tell him to stop, he stops, jumps onto the bed, circles beside me, and lies down.

Looking at him, I see a little aggrieved expression, which is rather funny. The aggrievement is what I read into it. He may not think that at all. But living with a cat probably makes these interpretations, colored by my own feelings, inevitable. He makes a movement and I see meaning in it, while keeping a question mark in my mind about whether I am right.

Once he is lying beside me, of course I free a hand to stroke him and scratch his chin, listening to his purring. Then I lean over and kiss him. I may not pick him up, but there are kisses.

Described like this, those actions are not special at all. Yet living together really is made of so many things that happen without planning. He settles beside me, within reach of my hand. There is warmth beneath my fingertips and purring in my ears. I do not have to set aside a special stretch of time or think about how to keep him company. My hand is already reaching over.

A moment ago I was stopping him from chewing something. A little later, I am kissing him. It is rather funny when I think about it. It is true that Sanmu is easy to live with, and true that I worry when he chews bags. Fortunately, alongside the sounds that make me speak up, there are the times when he stays quietly beside me.

I may not have worked out whether he wanted canned food after all. But for this little while, Sanmu is within reach. I scratch his chin, listen to his purring, and give him another kiss.